


I See You

by thedarksideme



Category: JYJ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 10:20:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3646647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarksideme/pseuds/thedarksideme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when you're stuck outside the window of the man you're planning to rob?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I See You

 

 

Yoochun took a discreet glance at his watch as he reached out for a drink. He brought the glass to his lips and nonchalantly half-turned his body, letting his eyes swoop around the whole room. The figure he was searching for wasn't there. Yoochun frowned inwardly. It wasn't like him to be late.

 

As Yoochun turned back to face his companion, a group of people entered the bar noisily. His ears perked at the sound of a familiar laughter mixed among them. Yoochun smiled at the girl in front of him and paid extra attention to what she was saying. The girl blushed hard. Yoochun didn't notice.

 

 

 

Many minutes and one increasingly annoyed girl later, Yoochun chanced a peek behind him, searching for the figure he was searching for earlier. The girl followed his line of vision and muttered darkly, “Are you serious?”

 

Yoochun didn’t hear. He was busy counting the people and the number of bottles on the table, one, two, four, nine, twelve bottles or so, and one still in the man’s own hand. Nice. His timing was getting impeccable.

 

“Oppa, I’m leaving,” the girl muttered coldly, her hand gripping her handbag tightly.

 

“Oh. Take care,” Yoochun signalled the waitress for another drink.

 

The girl’s eye twitched and she stomped off, “Oh forget it.”

 

Yoochun waved her good bye, but she didn’t turn her back. He sighed. Oh well. At least this one was quick to pick up his intention. Now that she was gone, Yoochun was free to focus his attention to the main reason he came to this bar for: that man.

 

A waiter banged his drink on the table so loudly Yoochun jumped in his seat.

 

“Friggin shit Changmin you trying to kill me or something?” Yoochun whimpered weakly as his heart threatened to jump out of his ribcage.

 

Changmin smiled sweetly at him and sang, “Stop doing it.”

 

“Doing what?”

 

“Stalking.”

 

Yoochun almost snorted out his beer. “Stalk- me? Me? Stalking??”

 

“You. Stalking. Stop it.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yoochun protested weakly.

 

“Kim Jaejoong, regular patron on Thursday night, 29 years old, single,” Changmin sighed. “Always occupies the middle round table, always surrounded by his group of friends…”

 

“Always different group of friends,” Yoochun added quietly, eyes stealthily trained on the man in question, and completely missing Changmin’s raised eyebrows.

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“Did you say his name was Jaejoong? Kim Jaejoong?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Nice to finally know his name,” Yoochun muttered. Ooh, look, that guy was telling a story now. What story would it be this time, Yoochun wondered; he was sitting a bit further today, he couldn’t really hear him from here.

 

Changmin glanced at Yoochun and back at Jaejoong, “So, you didn’t know his name.  _What_ did you know about him?”

 

“He works at an auditing company. He used to have two dogs and a cat. His shirt size is 16 slim fit. He has a piano, but didn’t know how to play, and now it became his coffee table. He gets drunk around the 4th-5th bottle or so. He misplaces his stuff all the time, so he kept a spare house key attached to a slipper, which is placed within reach of his pet doo-“

 

“Okay I’m seriously going to introduce you two right now,” Changmin stood up, and Yoochun grabbed his wrist as quickly as a lightning.

 

“Don’t,” he pleaded.

 

“Make me,” Changmin challenged.

 

“I’ll do anything you want.”

 

“Go down there and-“

 

“Other than that. I’ll do anything you want other than that one,” Yoochun grimaced, “please?”

 

Changmin raised an eyebrow, “Anything?”

 

“Anything.”

 

“Well now,” Changmin plopped back to his seat cheerfully, “I can use a little bit of fun.”

 

 

 

On a lightly drizzling night, Yoochun stood in front of an apartment building with a wary look. He was in no hurry to get shelter, especially in that building. He fished out his phone and called Changmin.

 

“I can’t do this,” Yoochun said.

 

“You’re the one who said you’d do anything.”

 

“I was drunk! And you’re sick! Are you seriously asking me to rob the guy?!??”

 

“You should know better than to talk to me when you’re drunk,” Changmin replied calmly, “But yes, I am really asking you to break into this guy's apartment and steal one of his stuff. So, do it. He’s not even going to be there for a whole night, he’s sleeping over at his friend’s! Just take anything. You can spare the big items, sofa, washing machine, TV…”

 

“You’re completely missing the point here.”

 

“Floor 9 unit 12. Come back without proof and I’d get you blacklisted from the bar.”

 

Changmin hung up promptly. Yoochun cursed loudly.

 

 

 

In front of the shiny black door, Yoochun took a shaky breath while chanting Buddhist prayer in his heart, asking for forgiveness for breaking into someone’s apartment, and squatted down to peep into the pet door.

 

Just like what Jaejoong had told, erm,  _one of his friends_ , there was a pair of house slippers within easy reach from the trap door. One of them has a little pocket on and Yoochun grabbed it and fished out a key from it.

 

The door unlocked easily and quietly. Yoochun stole guilty glances to his left and right and snuck into the apartment, just like a thief. He couldn’t believe he was really breaking into someone’s place just because Changmin blackmailed him into it.

 

Well, that and also because he was curious. He had been secretly stalki- uhm, admiring this Kim Jaejoong from afar and learned about him from things he had overheard him tell his friends. Some might say it was stalking, some might say that 90-decibel conversations were meant to be overheard anyway.

 

But this, getting into his apartment, was like getting to know him privately,  _intimately_ , albeit also undoubtedly illegally. Nevertheless, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious.

 

Yoochun toed off his shoes and decided to take a quick look around the apartment, before deciding on what item he would steal as proof of this insanely dishonourable deed. Yoochun passed by the piano, literally used as a coffee table with little cup of sugar packs and a stack of coasters by its side, and went searching for the bedroom.

 

It was the room at the end of the corridor. The queen sized bed and a tiny bedside table took up a large portion of the room, but even after housing a wardrobe and a tall glass cabinet that housed various tiny trinkets, there were still some space left for a thick ornament rug in front of the window.

 

The window was opened and the night wind blew streams of rain into the room. As Yoochun moved to close the window, the bedroom door slammed close, scaring the hell out of him. And worse, he heard a stream of curses floated in from the living room.

 

Half of Yoochun’s spirit left him in fright and he contemplated a hundred and one ways to vanish into thin air. He looked around wildly, saw the window and, without further thinking, climbed out into the pouring rain. He gripped the window ledge tightly, his sock-covered feet finding solid purchase, fortunately, upon a sufficient-but-still-narrow concrete protrusion below the window.

 

Being pelted with fat rain droplets and quickly turning as soggy as an overcooked spinach, Yoochun busied himself cursing Changmin just so he could concentrate his mind away from a nine-storey freefall height behind him.

 

Just then, the bedroom door burst open. Yoochun ducked his head and felt his hands tingle to the tip of his fingers, almost losing their strength. Oh dear god, this was the ninth floor. Would he die tonight like a thief like this?

 

“Have you found yourself a liver donor? Because I sure as hell will not donate mine,” Yoochun recognised that voice as Jaejoong’s non-drinking buddy, who would picked him up from the bar when he was too wasted to go home alone.

 

“Junchaan,” wailed Jaejoong loudly. “He’s not there. Where…”

 

“Yeah yeah. At least you’re still wailing my name. Why do you have to be more drunk than usual on a stormy night like this anyway?” the man nagged. “Shit my clothes are wet. Your clothes are wet. Ughh. Come on, hyung, take it off, your bed is going to get soaked.”

 

The man continued to grumble and heave and nag as he changed Jaejoong’s clothes. Yoochun heard the wardrobe being opened and prayed silently, “Please don’t notice that the window is open. Please don’t notice that the window is open…”

 

Still, fearing that he would, Yoochun pried his fingers off the window rail and, instead, gripped the minute ledge framing the window. Yoochun doubted he could hold on to it if he suddenly stumbled off, but it beat having his fingers crushed by the window if that guy decided to-

 

SLAM!!

 

-yeah, slide the window shut like that. Yoochun cringed. Great. Now he was locked outside the window of a ninth storey building, the rain was building up even stronger, and god only knew when his legs would give up on him.

 

Before Yoochun could rethink his options, he heard the door closed. He peeked into the bedroom. It seemed like the  _’Junchan’_ had left. The room was dark, but Yoochun could make out a silhouette of a figure sprawled on the bed.

 

Yoochun placed his palm on the window and tried to slide it. It didn’t budge. Yoochun sighed.

 

He didn’t have much choice. He was dripping wet, mentally tortured (by guilt), and was hanging precariously on a narrow ledge of a nine-storey window that was getting more slippery by the minute. Thief or no thief, he had to come in if he didn’t want to fall to his death.

 

Making sure he had a solid grip on the narrow window ledge, Yoochun straightened his back upright and rapped the window.

 

The figure didn’t stir.

 

Yoochun knocked the window louder.

 

The figure jerked.

 

Yoochun braced himself and said loudly over the pouring rain, “Help.”

 

Like a slow-motion picture, Jaejoong fumbled and reached out for his bedside lamp. He turned it on and looked curiously at Yoochun. A short moment later the boxer-clad lad staggered to the window, stared adorably drunkenly at Yoochun, and placed his palm across where Yoochun splayed his.

 

Yoochun prayed that Jaejoong was still too drunk to realise how suspicious this situation was, and tried in his best natural voice, “Help, I’m stuck.”

 

After blinking several times, Jaejoong finally unlocked the sliding window and wrenched it open.

 

Yoochun braced himself on the window sill and was pulling himself up just as Jaejoong, intent to help, grabbed him by his soaking shirt and hauled him in with all the strength that he had. And thanks to the graceful balance of a drunken person, they tumbled spectacularly onto the rug, the wet on top of the drunk.

 

“Oh god are you alright?” Yoochun extracted himself up and tried to examine Jaejoong’s elbows, shoulder and head.

 

“Am I dreaming?” Jaejoong blinked up at him, hands reaching out to frame Yoochun’s face. “Why are you here?”

 

Yoochun froze. An excuse was forming halfway in his head, but suddenly Jaejoong pulled him by his collar and kissed him urgently, soft-sleepy lips and warm breath and all. Surprised but all too willing, Yoochun returned the kiss with equal fervour.

 

“Is this a dream,” Jaejoong whispered again.

 

“You’re drunk,” Yoochun mouthed against his lips.

 

“I know. I can’t see you otherwise,” Jaejoong sighed into the kiss.

 

Yoochun was really not against the idea of making out with the man he had been lusting over for weeks but… what?

 

He pulled back and echoed out his thoughts, but Jaejoong was hell bent on having this kiss uninterrupted. With an unexpected strength he flipped them over and recaptured Yoochun’s lips with passion. Yoochun moaned, but with surprising willpower pushed Jaejoong away and wrenched himself out of Jaejoong’s warmth.

 

They sat across each other with the thunderstorm filling in the very pregnant silence. Jaejoong was looking at him, still drunkenly Yoochun supposed, but also like as if Yoochun was a delectable dessert he was dying to taste. And Yoochun was sure he had the exact same look in his eyes too, if not mixed with part confusion and part guilt.

 

But he had to explain this, had to say something, anything. “I’m…”

 

“Wet,” Jaejoong supplied, evidently still too intoxicated to exercise his self-preservation instinct.

 

But Yoochun wasn’t drunk. And he had to set himself clear so, “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

 

“You need to take those off,” Jaejoong slithered closer and pulled Yoochun’s dripping socks from the tip.

 

They both fumbled with the shirt buttons and someone had a hold on Yoochun’s belt buckle. Somehow the wet clothes were peeled off, and while pawing at each other they made it all the way to the bed. By the time Yoochun had Jaejoong pinned down against a pillow, he had forgotten who he was and why he was there.

 

“Why is the window open again? Didn’t I clo-“

 

Yoochun pulled away from Jaejoong so fast his head spun.

 

“Where di- Wha- WHO the hell are you?!” the ‘Junchan’ bellowed at Yoochun.

 

“I can explain…“ Yoochun said, plastering himself against the wall, while Jaejoong scrambled half-off the bed and threw something at the ‘Junchan’.

 

“Go home, Junsu.”

 

“What’s goi- did you just throw a sock at me?” Junsu shrieked, “Eww it’s wet!”

 

“It’s mine,” Yoochun grimaced in a small voice.

 

“YOU-“

 

“ARE GOING HOME!” Jaejoong insisted.

 

Yoochun tried interjecting, “I’m-“

 

Jaejoong whipped his head back, hissing, “Mine.”

 

Yoochun gulped. Junsu threw his hands up in the air.

 

“I give up. You’re right I’m going home. If you get murdered, I get your piano.”

 

“Love you, Junchan,” Jaejoong yelled as the door slammed shut. “Call the cops,” was the muffled yell from beyond.

 

“Look, I have to explain myself,” Yoochun said as Jaejoong dragged him back to the pillows, “I’m sorry I broke into your house. But I swear I’m not a robber …” Jaejoong climbed on top of him, wedging a knee between his thighs, “I’m just here… uh,” Yoochun mumbled as Jaejoong started nibbling on his lips, “on uhm… dare…”

 

Jaejoong’s mouth swept wickedly into his, tearing a low pleasured moan from the back of his throat. Yoochun’s hands were in Jaejoong’s hair before he knew it, encouraging him to explore deeper. Faintly he heard the main door slammed shut, and his senses returned.

 

He wanted the man so much, wanted him enough to not want this to be just a mere one-night stand, an easy excuse for a mistake. With great difficulty, he gripped Jaejoong’s shoulders and shook him.

 

“Listen to me,” Yoochun said breathlessly.

 

Panting, Jaejoong looked at him with lust-filled eyes, mumbled, “I don’t care,” and gently and calmly pried Yoochun’s hands off, “even if you’re just a temporary figment of my imagination, I don’t care. You’re here now. I have you now.”

 

Jaejoong dipped back but Yoochun turned his head, “I can’t. Not like this.”

 

“But I’m drunk now,” Jaejoong whined, dragging sinful teeth along Yoochun’s jaw instead, enticing an involuntary gasp from the latter. “You won’t be here anymore when I’m sober.”

 

Yoochun had absolutely no idea what the drunken man was talking about, but because he was a stupid idiot he said, “I will.”

 

“Huh?” said the breath of whisper in his ear, nipping teasingly.

 

Yoochun shuddered and hung on desperately to the last thread of self-control he possessed, “I will still be here when you’re sober, I promise.”

 

Jaejoong finally looked at him, and probably decided he was too drunk to deal with a potentially messed up reality, and yet sober enough to process the finality in Yoochun’s tone, because he sighed in a small voice, “Okay.”

 

Still, he must have remembered the correlation between Yoochun and his soberness, no matter what that was, because he reached down the bed to wrap the blanket over their bodies, and nestled himself on Yoochun’s chest, completely disregarding his own hard on pressed against Yoochun’s side. An arm flung possessively across Yoochun’s torso, effectively entrapping the latter between the wall and himself.

 

“Not taking any chances,” he slurred sleepily.

 

Yoochun tucked the blanket into Jaejoong’s shoulder and whispered back, “Just as well.”

 


End file.
